


Hands of Gold

by problematic-fave (salt_and_burn)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, M/M, Seth centric, everyone else is implied, hunter/seth is pretty bloody heavily implied tho, only dean/roman is explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salt_and_burn/pseuds/problematic-fave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A chain and a keep are nothing, compared to a lover's kiss."</p>
<p>Inconsiderately, Roman and Dean fail to completely fall apart in misery after Seth's betrayal. Seth does what he always does, and keeps on keeping on. Funny, but with all the heat he's getting, he's never felt colder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Seth feels obligated to have sex with Hunter, but doesn't enjoy it. Hunter calls him a slut. (Not explicit)
> 
> Ty Neff for looking this over, and for your general influence on my life as a whole <3

When Seth first realized what he'd have to do to get ahead, to not be left behind his two glowing brothers once their stable broke up, he'd resolved himself to it. To being sneered at backstage, to cold shoulders and never being able to let his guard down or turn his back, to being the villain. He'd resolved himself to being the one that broke hearts, to being called a sell out, to the mark that would be made in the history books, branding him a coward, a turn coat, the destructive end of a once all-dominant faction. More importantly, he'd resolved himself to never being part of their family ever again, and to being the thing people pointed to when, down the track, Dean and Roman fell apart. Too much history, people would say, with a pitying shake of the head. How could they trust each other after what _he_ did to them, with venom in their mouths.

What he hadn't seen coming, he reflects bitterly, was what _actually_ happened between Dean and Roman. He can only guess at how many hotel rooms they'd destroyed between them, first separately as they processed what he'd done, and then together, as they refound each other. But evidently, refound each other they have, and the scar tissue he knows he's torn into their hearts must not ache that sharp at all in the warmth of each other's bodies. 

He tells himself it's disgusting, as he watches them trip over each other in their haste to get inside Roman's dressing room, and tries not to acknowledge the uncomfortable cold of the empty space around him as he hears the low giggles echo through the hall through the cheap wood of the door.

The championship belt, when he finally gets his hands on it, fills him with a fire he can't describe, and he doesn't dream about Dean and Roman's hands on him for the first time in months. It justifies everything he's done, every bump and scar and choking sob he's had to suffer through at 3am, and it sends him soaring into the stratosphere, untouchable and better than he'd ever imagined.

And it brings him crashing back down to earth, too, bones bending and skin spattered with bruises, the first time he sees it dumped, unceremoniously sprawled across the carpeted floor of Hunter's office. He knows it's just mimicking the man holding it, wants to turn away from the ugly symmetry he knows is happening as the carpet digs into his hands and knees. He has to close his eyes, tries not to cry as he imagines the hands pulling in his hair are Roman's, or the soft grunts from behind him are Dean's. He limps back to the hotel that night, glares himself down in the mirror and reminds himself that he knew what he was getting into when he shook Hunter's hand. 

It's a blessing in disguise when Hunter starts preferring to have his mouth, because it means he has an excuse for the way his eyes leak and his throat spasms as Hunter's big hands hold his head and neck, impersonal the way their's never were, and calls him Daddy's good little slut.

Of course he runs into _them_ on the way back to catering, and he can tell from the looks in their eyes that they know where he's been, what (or rather who) he's been doing. He resists the urge to wipe his eyes or his mouth, phantom fluids on his skin, and readjusts the title like it's proof that he's intrinsically better than them, rather than the most gaudy collar he's ever worn.

He wakes up every second night after that for almost a month, shivering and disoriented. He tries to laugh at the most ridiculous nightmare he's ever had - Hunter and Stephanie, and Roman and Dean, both couples in matching outfits at some fancy dinner at the McMahon Mansion, laughing at pitiful, naked Seth where he's straining against the collar and chain binding him to the table leg, desperate for someone, anyone, to give him a kind word or a warm hand. His irritation at his own stupidity doesn't stop it from reoccurring, leaving him worn out and listless whenever Hunter calls to claim his pound of flesh.

The difference between what he had (and traded away) and what he's sold himself into only becomes more apparent as his title reign goes on. 

Dean gradually loses his interest in hunting Seth down, and Roman is more concerned with practically anyone else.

It comes to a head when he comes backstage after finishing a match, after many months of them flaunting their untouchable bond. (A quiet voice in the back of his head whispers that there's the distinct possibility they don't even care enough about him to flaunt anymore, and they're just living and he keeps getting in the way.)

They're sitting in a semi-deformed circle with Xavier and Big E, and the Usos. Or, more accurately, Roman is sitting, and Dean is sitting on Roman's lap. He's lolled back with his head across Roman's shoulder, mouth tucked against the side of his neck. His legs are spread either side of Roman's, swinging lazily as Roman strokes up and down his arm and squeezes casually at his hip.

Seth stops in his tracks, title slipping a little down his shoulder. 

He wants to hate them. How dare they, when they were never this open when he was involved. How dare they, sitting there like they have any right to, when he's the champ, when this is his territory. And how dare none of the others say anything, like this is a regular occurrence, just part of the norm.

He knows it all, can see it in the way Dean is almost passed out in bliss. Dean is Roman’s precious pampered little prince. Roman always has his hands all over Dean. On tv, it’s uce-y, even though he knows there’s love in every playful tap. Outside the ring, he’s positively possessive. It grates on Seth, makes him grind his teeth and clench his fists. Dean was never so _passive_ when it was Seth trying to touch him, to calm him down, to love him without words.

Seth knows how Dean gets, because it used to be _him_ in that position. And he knows how Roman gets because he used to be in that one as well.

He knows how desperately Roman wants to show Dean he deserves nice, soft things that are pleasant and enjoyable, and he knows how sometimes Dean gets an itch in his bones that he can't shake, needs to be held down and roughed up and allowed to survive it, to be strong and thrive in it so he can silence the voices in his head telling him he's not tough enough, not hard enough, not nasty enough to make it. Roman's always willing to take one for the team, doesn't mind letting that dominant, beast-like, predatory part of himself out to play as long as Dean wants it, needs it, begs for it.

He wants to hate them so bad, but all he can feel is how much he misses them, throbbing in every bruise Hunter has left on him and every step he takes without them by his side. He hates himself for it.

They can tell, have always been able to read him too easily, and it shows in the glint in Roman's dark eyes as he smirks, staring straight at Seth, and it makes Seth want to bare his teeth because he gets it, ok. He gets it. He knows Dean doesn't belong to him anymore, knows neither of them do and he isn't allowed to touch them, either of them, they're _off limits_. He knows it the same way he knows he's going home alone tonight, and no one will even care to check that he gets there except that he has their most expensive belt in his possession.

He sneers at them, because what else is he supposed to do, what else _can_ he do, and tries to make it look more like a swagger than a retreat as he gets the hell out of there, their gazes on the back of his neck hot, reminding him of the fire they used to kindle under his skin in the dark nights they had together.

He shivers as he steps out into the open air, wind rushing in close against him, and the gold feels like ice where it sits, slung over Seth’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> [insert upside down smiley face emoji like three times] I love Seth, I promise. Just, sometimes I remember how much I miss the Shield and I feel the need to make him suffer.


End file.
